Addiction
by FaithlessDreamer
Summary: They say that it only takes five consecutive occurances to make a behavior a habit. When a catalyst is added then it becomes easy for a habit to become an addiction. The Hastings name and all that it entails is one such catalyst that has shaped Spencer into the person she is. The question is, how will she break the addiction when the catalyst becomes too much? Spemily.
1. Twelve Step Plans are for Wimps

**A/N I seem to have hit a minor mental roadblock in Blurring the Lines Between Us. As a means of hopefully sorting through the mess of plot ideas inside my head right now, I'm pulling this little tendril out of the disorganized pile. Hopefully this isn't too strange, and someone actually ends up enjoying it. Flashback's will be in **_italics._

**Disclaimer: I do not own Pretty Little Liars; however, I am borrowing the characters and turning them into marionettes of sorts. Also, credit for parts of the flashback conversation between Spencer and Emily (it's not direct quoted, but ever so slightly modified to context) goes to Rory of Pretty Little Texts on Tumblr. I do not have a Tumblr, but I do have to say that it is... interesting.**

**Thanks, of course, have to go to the lovely LaughLoveLiveXx for being an awesome beta. Thank you for tolerating me as well. Haha.**

The transition from day to night was quiet; flawless, even. The orange and purple sunset faded into darkness, without its usual cacophony of sounds. The typical buzz that emanated from the streetlamp on the corner of the Hastings' drive was absent; instead of attempting to shed what flickering light it could, it remained silent and black. The cool wind that residents were accustomed to during the pinnacle of autumn, in Rosewood, lay still. Not a single leaf was rustled save for when the pull of winter sleep tugged at the vestiges of life, or one settled to the ground with no more than a whisper of a crackle.

Within the still and stagnant night, not long after the witching hour, a single sliver of light, seen through half curtained windows, hinted at a sparse sense of life within the haunting darkness of autumn in the latest stage of the moon cycle, right before the new moon. Under the luminescent circle of an antique desk lamp, a family heirloom, sat Spencer Hastings. Before her lay the workings of multiple essays and assigned readings given by her AP teachers after the completion of midterms. Open textbooks, scattered papers, and her laptop haphazardly cluttered the expansive space of her room.

Normally Spencer maintained a clean sense of order about her room, even under stress, but she was slipping. It was only the third day following the end of Rosewood High's week-long fall break, and Spencer couldn't seem to manage her time quite as well as she used to. Her bed still lay half-made from her rush out the door, when her myriad of alarms simply did not wake her in time to go through her regular routine. In the time following her return home, at the end of the school day, a layer of balled up notepaper began to build and surround first her bed, then her desk as she changed her location in hopes of producing more inspired writing. All were various drafts of the three essays that she had due in little more than five hours – the latest being her dissertation on Shakespeare's _Macbeth_.

After she typed the last few letters and they subsequently appeared on the screen of her laptop, Spencer let out a tired sigh of relief and accomplishment. In a matter of seconds, the document was saved, printed, and tucked safely in a folder that she then placed in her messenger bag. Her final rough drafts were filed away in the bottom drawer of her desk that also contained every assignment she had ever turned in since she started school at the age of four.

The sense of self-pride that filled her after a successful cram session started to dwindle as Spencer took in the state of her room. The tired part of her really wanted to leave it for another day, but the Hastings in her was appalled that the thought had even crossed her mind. She figured that turning off the light would hide the mess, invoking the "out of sight, out of mind" effect, that she wasn't quite acquainted with, as well as help shutdown her brain so she could sleep.

With a sense of finality, she turned the small knob on her Nana's lamp causing her to reflexively jump as darkness cloaked her room and she felt a sharp shock run through her fingers.

"Damn it!" The expletive slipped from Spencer's mouth in a hiss as she cradled her hand to her stomach, trying to ease the burn that she felt trailing through her tendons and forearm, all the way to her elbow.

Now, Spencer wasn't the type to let superstition bother her, but the lamp **was **a parting gift left to her in her Nana's will. The former matriarch was sure to be rolling in her grave at the mere notion that a Hastings could possibly step out of line and ignore the family motto of 'why enjoy today when you can worry about tomorrow?', even though the red numbers glaring at Spencer from across the room indicated that tomorrow was technically today. If either of her parents was to randomly acknowledge the presence of their eighteen-year-old daughter, and the mess was still there after sunrise, they would most certainly have her head on the metaphorical cutting block.

Spencer's weary brain, no matter how sophisticated, could not fully process the fact that her parents never truly had a clue she existed unless it was literally thrown in their faces, and that her Nana haunting her out of spite for silently tarnishing the Hastings name was completely inane.

However ludicrous the idea, the light was back on in seconds and, with new-found energy, Spencer was throwing away papers and piling up laundry to be washed, pressed, and hung before the first warning bell rang at 7:15 in four point five hours. Somehow, somewhere between cleaning her room and her various trips downstairs, she managed to change into a pair of shorts and a tank top to serve as pajamas on the off-chance that she actually got some sleep.

* * *

Lunchtime found Spencer almost four cups of coffee into the school day and extremely jittery. She wasn't sure if her massive migraine coupled with quivering muscles was from lack of sleep, too much caffeine, or not enough caffeine. Regardless of the reasoning, she felt utterly miserable as she slumped onto the bench beside Emily, at their usual table in the courtyard, and all but collapsed on top of the table like a limp noodle. The ailing brunette gave a muffled "Em," as a form of greeting to acknowledge her taller friend's presence.

Concerned, Emily put down her fork full of her mother's incredible pasta salad that she was about to eat, before her best friend's unceremonious arrival. "What's wrong, Spence? You don't have the flu too, do you?" She queried, referencing the fact that both Hanna and Aria were out sick, while gently rubbing the tighter than usual muscles of Spencer's back in what she hoped was a comforting manner.

Initially, Spencer relaxed into the warm touch that was somehow soothing her headache while simultaneously releasing her tensed facial muscles, and almost let a moan slip from her parted lips. She made sure to impede the sounds escape when she became fully aware of exactly who the hand trailing the length of her back belonged to, and had to fight the urge to flinch away from the touch.

Spencer was taken back to last Saturday, the day that she knew she had made a complete fool of herself even if she couldn't remember all of the details.

_The four friends had decided to get together and end their fall break with a bit of underage drinking, and frivolous party games. It was like a private party to mark both the passing of all of their midterms as well as one-quarter of their senior year. Hanna, having made mostly B's, was probably the most festive, and definitely the most wasted out of the four of them._

_Upon Hanna's continual toasting and insistence that Spencer keep drinking to being a successful tutor, the almost hazy eyed brunette was probably second on the list of intoxicated friends. Emily wasn't far behind the zealous Hastings, but Aria, on the other hand, was only a little tipsy in comparison to everyone else. The shortest of their group, being a bit of a lightweight, was still sipping away at her first drink and had only consumed maybe two shot to Spencer and Emily's five, each. Aria wasn't completely sure what they were doing shots of, but she was decently buzzed._

_The revelry was silently understood to be run by Hanna, who- eventually- deemed them all drunk enough to play a few rounds of Truth or Dare. The comical game was highlighted by Aria running around in a blanket cape with a spatula pretending to be Wonder Woman, Hanna drunk dialing random numbers and claiming to be either a pregnant ex-girlfriend or a lesbian one night stand, Emily confessing to having a thing for brunettes with glasses, and finally, Spencer making the mistake of accepting a dare from Hanna._

_From the mischievous glint in the blond's glassy eyes, Spencer knew it wasn't going to be something she would do willingly, under normal circumstances. "I dare you, Spencer Hastings, the queen of all things uptight and boring," Hanna paused for suspense and also to make sure she didn't slur her words too much, "to dirty dance to any song of my choice-" Spencer let out a sigh of relief, not knowing that there was more to the dare, "-with Emily."_

_Hanna was giggling and stumbling to go get her iPod out of her purse before either of the brunettes in question could respond. The blond, by some means unknown, managed to procure the Hastings family's expensive docking station and set up her iPod on the kitchen island. By the time the music started to pour through the room, Spencer had gotten over her reservations and stood up with a "What the hell? Why not?"_

_Spencer stood on trembling legs that she convinced herself were caused by the alcohol and not nerves. Naturally, she took the lead and started to loosen up to the rhythm of Chayanne's "Salomé". Shaking the tension from her limbs, she closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. After getting a feel for the pace of the song, she opened her eyes and offered her right hand to Emily, who had hesitantly moved to stand in front of her, drawing her in with the increased pitch of the trumpets before melodious Spanish lyrics poured over them._

_The cadence of the song didn't call for rehearsed steps or choreographed moves, and soon the two found their own unique rhythm to their movements that went beyond the rapid pace of the musical notes permeating the air around them. They had no clear leader or follower to their dance; instead, they were on mutual grounds of give and take. They danced around as well as with each other, occasionally exchanging teasing touches such as a brush of fingertips along the curve of a hip, down the column of a tanned neck, or around a slightly bared shoulder._

_Their pace changed a little when Spencer stepped forward and brought Emily's back against her front. Until then, their movements were touch and go, drawing closer only to pull away from complete contact. The shorter brunette's hands found their way down Emily's smooth sides to still moving hips that she then drew closely against her own. They both moved together like water, even when Emily turned in Spencer's light grasp and melded into her body. They stayed completely in sync._

_Spencer anticipated Emily's every move from the placement of her hands, just below the swimmer's toned waist, while Emily played with the silky hairs at the nape of Spencer's neck and kept their eyes locked. Both deep brown gazes were a little hazy but they would later chalk that up to the drinking and nothing remotely close to passion._

_As the song drew to a close, they too slowed with down cast eyes and heavy gasps for breath. Damp foreheads pressed together before two sets of brown eyes, one set darker than the other, met again. They took in how tightly pressed together their bodies were, and stepped back almost hesitantly._

_"Will you go out with me?" The words fell from Spencer's lips before she could even process where they came from._

_Emily's brow creased in confusion. "Outside?"_

_"No…"_

_"Spence, I'm not going anywhere with you unless you tell me where we're going!" Emily's voice began to edge towards panicky for some reason. Spencer's words weren't making sense in her head. Her best friend would never ask her out on a date-date, so she had to be asking her to go somewhere. "I already ended up in the back of one car from not knowing what was going on and I will __**not**__ do that again!"_

_Seeing Emily's freaked out reaction, Spencer decided to back off. "No, we're not going anywhere. Well, not anywhere outside, anyway." She looked around the room, trying to find something, anything, that would be of use in the awkward situation that she had gotten herself into, only to find that Hanna and Aria were mysteriously absent. Figuring that they had gone to bed, Spencer continued, "We should head up to my room. Han and Ar have already gone up to the guest room."_

_Emily looked around at hearing Spencer's last words as if she too hadn't noticed their friends' departure. Thinking that the other girl had actually seen them go, and not wanting to seem as if Spencer had her completely distracted, the taller brunette replied, "Uh, yeah. Let's go… It's probably really late anyway." She added lamely._

Returning to the present, Spencer sat up and opted to somewhat awkwardly snuggle into the tan girls shoulder and close her eyes contently, subconsciously seeking the strange medicine that stemmed from the contact. Emily, for her part, shifted to accommodate the fragile brunette, and wrapped her arm around narrow shoulders to rub the length of Spencer's arm, continuing to calm Spencer the way that only Emily could.

"No, I don't have the flu." Spencer finally answered. "If only I did, then I would definitely know what is wrong with me, but I don't."

"Were you up all night studying again?" Emily asked knowingly. "That's the third time this week and it's only Thursday. You need to slow down before you kill yourself with all of the sleep you've been missing out on."

"That's not the only thing though." Spencer defended as she opened her eyes and sat up so she could look directly into Emily's steady gaze, hoping to get her point across with both expression and words. "Em, I didn't sleep last night because I literally thought that my Nana was going to return from the grave and make my life hell if I didn't clean my room. Do you understand how absurd that is? Especially for me. I'm honestly beginning to think that I need some serious help."

"How about you start with a reduction in the amount of caffeine you inhale daily?" Emily advised, reaching for the hot cup of coffee that Spencer had abandoned in her hasty entrance. "I think it's making you delusional."

"No, don't!" Spencer shouted in wide-eyed shock, trying and failing to reach the cup

before Emily had moved it out of her reach. "I'm being serious here, Em. Please give me back my coffee?" The shorter brunette had, loathingly, resorted to pleading and evoking the puppy look that was usually Emily's weakness.

"Nope. You are now limited to one cup of coffee at noon each day for the next two weeks." The swimmer responded, holding strong against the pitifully broken look on Spencer's face. "And, if you're having a hard time sitting at home with your cupboard full of exotic coffee beans then just call or text me. I'm sure my mother would enjoy cooking for more than just two for a change. A girl can only take so much of constantly having leftovers for lunch."

"Do you really think that'll work?" Spencer resigned, knowing that if the puppy eyes didn't work then nothing would.

"Think of this as your intervention and me as your sponsor for Caffeine Addicts Anonymous. We'll have you back to your typical self-confident, brooding Hastings ways in no time."

"Technically this isn't really anonymous, but do you promise this'll work?" Spencer asked, feeling slightly vulnerable and out of character at the thought of giving up her greatest vice.

"If not, there's always Radley." Emily teased, kissing Spencer's forehead before returning to her pasta salad.

"Not if I can help it."

"See? There's the Spencer that I know and love. Now go get something to eat before your blood sugar drops, and all that coffee you've had eats away at your stomach."

"Yes ma'am." Spencer mock saluted with a half-smile, falling into the role of following orders surprisingly well. She was starting to feel better already.

**TBC?**

**I decided to cut the story in half right here because this one-shot kind of started to get longer than I expected. I have the rest of it mostly done. I'm thinking it'll take me about two days to finish, and as soon as I get maybe… 5 - 10 reviews (depending on my mood) then I will post the second half. Hey, a writer has to have some kind of incentive, right?**


	2. Still Trying to Defy Physics

**A/N I am so sorry for how late this is. Four things:**

**1) This fic was intended to be a fluffy one-shot to make up for a bit of angst in my other Spemily fic Blurring the Lines Between Us, but it has developed into a full-blown story with its own dark plot sans 'A'. (Possibly. It depends on reviewers and my mood)**

**2) This chapter turned out quite long and I didn't want to torture anyone by breaking it up again (thus the lateness). So, you're welcome. Haha. It's my way of thanking everyone for the wonderful reviews. I was kind of hesitant about the dance scene but, from all the great feedback, I might write a few more scenes similar in style in the future. ;)**

**3) For Spencer's sake, Emily has French Casement windows in her room.**

**4) There will be mention of these things called 'sliders'. In sports jargon, girls that play soccer wear what most people call 'compression shorts' to keep from scrapping up their thighs when they slide across the field, and a few more reasons that I will leave the internet to tell you curious people. They are really worn by both males and females, in a variety of sports, but this is just how they are used in this case.**

* * *

Later that night, Spencer anxiously paced the length of the Hastings' kitchen between the sink and the refrigerator. She had already finished soccer practice, completed all of her homework, and visited each of her sick best friends, bearing saltine crackers and Ginger Ale. Not wanting to get sick herself, she had left shortly after arriving only to find herself at a loss as to what to do for the rest of the evening.

After she visited Aria and had Ella insist that she have dinner with them, she had decided to just curl up in the den, at home, with a fuzzy blanket and a documentary. She had gotten about halfway through a History channel special on the Chernobyl Disaster before her hands started to quiver.

That's how she found herself in the kitchen, casting furtive glances at the aforementioned cupboard of exotic coffee beans. Spencer didn't open it and she didn't dare look in its direction for more than a second because she knew that any longer than that and she would be six feet under, enjoying a cup of Columbia's finest.

Shaking her head to clear her mind and refocus, Spencer fled the kitchen up to her room – she could feel a panic attack coming on. Racing to her nightstand, she opened the top drawer and hurriedly swallowed a Xanax, dry. It was a little hard to do with her trembling hands in addition to how swiftly she was approaching a state of hyperventilation. The world seemed to shift unstably on a rightward tilt with the walls moving in around her. Her knees gave out on trembling legs, and she was barely able to break her fall with shaking hands, narrowly avoiding a full on face plant.

She instinctively slid into the routine that her psychotherapist walked her through, and attempted to focus on a single stationary object to get her vision under control – her hand. The slender digits twitched and shook with tension as they gripped the carpet beneath them. Tendons flexed beneath the milky white covering of her flesh. She repeatedly traced, with her steadying gaze, the blue lines of her veins, and catalogued each curve of her knuckles until the tightness in her chest eased before completely releasing.

Eleven hours. That's how long it had been since Emily had instilled the coffee ban, and Spencer was determined not to give in so soon. She was able to resist when she walked into the Marin's house and she could distinctly make out the aroma of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen. Holding strong, she politely declined Ashley's offer of a cup as well as ignored the odd look that the older woman gave her.

Earlier, on her way to Aria's, she stopped off at The Brew to get a bottle of the imported Ginger Ale that only Zack stocked, in all of Rosewood, and Aria absolutely loved. Again, Spencer resisted temptation with the finesse of a Hastings.

Now, the anxious brunette knew that anyone in their right mind wouldn't continually place themselves in situations to be tempted only hours after starting a pseudo-rehab program, but she was a Hastings and Hastings never did anything halfway. They ran at the bull head-on, and seized it by the horns. In this case, coffee was her bull and its horns were wicked-sharp daggers that were about to turn her into a shish kabob.

Deciding that being home alone was a bad idea, Spencer went to dig a pair of blue, black, and red plaid Converse out of her closet before hastily tying them and running downstairs. She was almost out the back door when she thought better of her plan to jog. Instead, she grabbed her car keys off the kitchen counter as well as her messenger bag that she spotted beside her keys, right where she tossed it after getting home.

By the time Spencer slid her fingertips across the release panel of her custom designed sapphire black Mclaren MP4-12C, a gift of over compensation from her old-money wealthy grandfather after the death of her Nana, the medication had settled into her system enough to bring about the calm and relaxed feeling that she was familiar with. The fast acting effects eased the more prevalent symptoms of her attack while over the long-term, after it dispersed further into her system, brought about a desire to sleep. Sitting in her car, the brunette deduced that she had a decent amount of time before the drowsiness became far too overwhelming to drive safely.

For some reason, the calm feeling that was brought upon by Spencer's medication always accompanied a strange neediness. Her doctor and therapist assured her that it was something psychological – a residual emotional effect of the attacks - and not something physical caused by the Xanax.

Relaxing into the sleek comfortable seat and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in thought, the slender brunette considered her options. _My family is out-of-town, not like they'd be much help anyway – I just want a cuddle buddy. Aria? No, she's too tiny and awkward to cuddle with. Hanna? No, I can't handle the inevitable teasing right now. Besides, both of them are sick. So, that leaves Emily…_

Emily really was the perfect choice if she really thought about it. The swimmer was just barely taller than her and Spencer knew from experience how comfortably their bodies fit together. The four friends didn't select their sleeping arrangements at random; there were legitimate reasons why Spencer was always paired with Emily, and Hanna with Aria.

They had slept with the same pattern for years and Spencer only recently started to question the feeling she always got when she would sleep beside her compassionate best friend. She also wondered why Emily never exposed her un-Hastings like cuddling habit to their other friends on any of the occasions that Spencer had angered the typically forgiving girl. They both knew that Hanna would have a field day with all of her sexual jokes and unpleasant teasing.

No matter what the reason was, Spencer definitely felt appreciative. If she had to endure the brunt of Hanna's teasing comments then it would have made her fear where her drunken words had come from, after sharing a more than friendly dance with someone who was supposed to be like a sister to her. After dedicating an excessive amount of thought to the muddled memories from their drunken Saturday night, she came to the conclusion that she was in love with Emily. She had finally figured out that the feeling of contentment that she always felt in her best friend's presence was more romantically attributed than being out of close friendship or sisterhood.

Knowing that there was a chance that she could be rejected if the taller brunette ever found out about her feelings or her lies, Spencer was reluctant to drive to Emily's despite her kindhearted best friend telling her that she was welcome anytime she was having a hard time being alone. Unable to resist the pull of her desire to find comfort in Emily's arms, Spencer finally started the hundred thousand dollar car. The throaty purr of the engine was accompanied by Adema's song "Freaking Out" in surround sound as she drove the fifteen minutes to Emily's house.

* * *

All of the lights in the Field's residence were out save for a small lamp beside Emily's bed. The formerly mentioned girl lay sprawled on her bed with a copy of Alexandre Dumas' _The Count of Monte Cristo _lying face down beside her sleeping form. She was enjoying a bit of leisure reading before the words on the page began to blur together and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

She was woken with a start when she heard a loud snap, and what sounded like something rustling in the tree outside of the window on the far side of her room where her window seat was. Her room being half illuminated made it hard for her to make out anything in the darkness of a new moon beyond the panes of glass, so she reached over to her night stand to turn off the bright lamp.

As her eyes adjusted and she slowly approached the window, the only light left in the room came from her alarm clock reading 12:58 in the morning. With a surprisingly steady hand, she unlatched the window and opened it. Peering out into the night, Emily could barely make out movement in the large, almost leafless limbs of the sizable elm tree.

Red and orange leaves fell in a loose shower, causing the rustling sound that became more distinctly after having opened the window. Squinting at about eye-level to a joint where a thick limb met an even thicker trunk, Emily could see an abnormally shaped shadow that almost looked like a figure pressed tightly against the trunk as if holding on for dear life. In the almost complete darkness, she could only assume since nothing was really that distinct.

"Hello?" She asked hesitantly, feeling skeptical at best that it wasn't just a cat or an owl and was actually a human being.

Her doubts were erased when she got a shaky, nervous sounding "Emily?" in reply.

The brunette almost gasped in shock, in part from actually receiving a legitimate response and from the fact that she recognized the voice. "Spencer?" She called, trying to more accurately discern the shape of the shadow after having an idea of who it belonged to.

"Yeah, it's me." Emily practically heard Spencer shiver with the leaves in the gentle breeze, making her aware of how cold it really was outside.

"Should I ask why you're in the tree outside my house at one in the morning? You must be freezing." Emily ventured, concerned for both her friend's physical health as well as her mental health.

The tree shook a little more as Spencer adjusted her footing. "It was warm inside my car, and I didn't want to wake your mom by going through the front door like I did last time." What made complete sense in Spencer's mind didn't quite click in Emily's.

"Spencer, my mom isn't home. She left for Texas a couple of days ago, on Monday, to visit my dad for a few weeks. I could have sworn that I told you, and why didn't you call or text me before coming over? I **know **I remember telling you that at school." Emily was beyond confused at the shorter brunette's odder than usual behavior; she was always the most organized and put together one out of the group, but this screamed impulsiveness, which was very unlike her.

"Em, I'm kind of cold. Do you think you could step back and maybe turn on a light so I know what I'm aiming for? I'll owe you a game of Twenty Questions after I can feel my limbs again. Promise."

"Wait, you're not going to try to jump through the window, are you? I thought you were absolutely terrified of heights?"

"Yes, Emily. I often feel anxiety in high places and I **am **going to jump through your window because I'm too numb to climb back down without breaking my neck in this damn darkness. It sure beats hanging out here until morning; at least I can't see the ground. Now, if you are quite done with asking questions that I can just as easily answer after I'm not about to die, the light, please?" Spencer was a bit irate with the predicament she was in and instead of taking it out on herself, the rightful culprit, she unintentionally took her anger out on Emily by snapping at her.

"Sorry." Emily hastily moved to turn on the light, and get to where she was out-of-the-way but could still make sure that Spencer was okay. The taller girl had no clue why she was condoning her friend's abnormal behavior instead of trying to come up with a safer alternative. _Sometimes, questioning Spencer's behavior is impossible and it's just better to go with the flow,_ she reasoned.

If she looked hard enough, Emily could barely see enough to monitor the slender girl's movements up the tree branch to where it got narrower and narrower as it neared the wide-open window. The apprehensive swimmer allowed herself a moment of mirth at the thought that her best friend rather closely resembled the shadow of a large monkey, climbing with all four limbs. She couldn't help but to ponder on how Spencer would look as a little ring-tailed lemur.

The shadow stopped just shy of the small area of illumination, about five feet away from the window. The roughly covered branch appeared to bow under Spencer's weight, indicating that she had gone as far as she could without risking a detrimental accident.

"I'm going to have to jump from here, Em." Spencer called, more for her own benefit rather than Emily's. It was her way of psyching herself up. Before she could back out, the slender brunette crouched like a panther and dove towards the window, closely emulating Emily's execution that she had seen hundreds of times when watching her best friend swim.

Calculating approximate distance, momentum, and a variety of other applicable physics formulas, Spencer intended to execute a corkscrew like turn and land on the cushioned surface of the divan beside the window; however, the combination of fear induced adrenaline, and shaky muscles caused Spencer to overshoot her landing. Emily watched as her best friend came through the darkness, and almost in slow motion, saw that Spencer would barely miss the window seat.

"Spencer!" She darted into motion immediately, hoping that she would make it before Spencer crashed to the floor and got injured.

As it happened, Spencer clipped her shoulder on the edge of window seat, causing her to land on her back, in a rather awkward way, and let out a choked gasp as all the oxygen was torn from her lungs. Her continued momentum caused her to roll after hitting the ground, resulting in a few scrapes before Emily was able to reach her. The severely dazed girl curled into the fetal position, trying to ease the pain and manage to breathe again, while Emily brushed her hair out of her face and opted to help her sit up.

Emily was shocked when her hands came into contact with icy flesh and she shifted to take in what the wheezing girl was wearing or, rather, what she wasn't. Spencer was slouched against her, still too shaken to support herself, in nothing more than a sports bra, and her practice shorts with a pair of sliders on underneath. If the swimmer hadn't already questioned Spencer's sanity, then she certainly would have after that.

"Still not the astounding secret agent that you always pretended to be when we were kids. When will you ever learn, Spence? Even after all of these years, you're still trying to defy physics." Emily admonished.

It was late October and the predicted low for that night was 58 degrees Fahrenheit. Even though it was much warmer than the typical low forties, the season didn't merit wearing scant sportswear as casual clothing. With a bit of effort, Emily maneuvered the shivering girl over to the bed.

"Come one. Lets get you warmed up while I go find the first aid kit. Can you breath okay?" She was relieved to see the shaky rise and fall of Spencer's chest as well as hear her somewhat raspy exhales; however, she wanted to make sure that there was no immediate danger of a broken rub.

She tried her hardest to keep a level head under the circumstances, but the voice in the back of her mind kept telling her that something was seriously wrong, something beyond even her comprehension and compassionate abilities. Logic told her that, even if there was something wrong with Spencer, her best friend was extremely unlikely to share; on the other hand, her impeccable intuition told her that Spencer needed to open up, even if Emily had to push her into doing it.

Spencer gave a nod of reassurance as Emily helped her sit back against the headboard with plenty of pillows for her back, that she knew would undoubtedly bruise on her left side, and a thick quilt to help her retain what little body heat she had left.

"Hang tight. I'll be right back." Receiving another nod, Emily hastily closed and locked the window that Spencer had just flown through before embarking on her hunt for the location of her father's military-grade first aid kit that he made sure to keep well stocked for any emergency situations.

Emily returned about twenty minutes later. "I didn't want to drag the whole kit up here because it weighs almost forty pounds, so-" she stopped in her doorway, as she looked up from the assortment of medical supplies in her arms, to see that Spencer had drifted off to sleep.

Dumping everything on the bed beside the slumbering girl, she placed a hand on Spencer's cheek and happily felt warmth return to fragile pale skin. The unspeakable desire to kiss the smooth lips that she was unconsciously running her thumb over caused a burning ache to surface in her chest. She hurriedly broke the starring match that she had gotten into, memorizing every detail of those forbidding pink lips, and jerked her hand back before she was tempted beyond recourse.

To distract herself, Emily set about making sure she had everything she needed to treat Spencer's minor injuries when she woke up. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn't notice a pair of brown eyes watching her.

"Mark Ryden." The smooth, albeit a tad raspy, voice startled Emily and made her jump as she turned to see that Spencer was very much awake. "That was the name you gave me when I said that I was going to play a secret agent; you thought it was a good spy name. Then you said that you were going to be Elly Ryden, my wife. It was during the summer I think, right after you turned seven." Spencer continued, explaining her arbitrary outburst.

"I remember that; we were playing pretend in your backyard. Then you completely freaked out on me and I started to cry because I thought that you didn't want to marry me. I didn't realize that you were ranting about how Mark Ryden's art was 'an affront to surrealism'. I had no idea that he was a real person when I thought of the name." Moving the quilt out of the way, Emily took the opportunity to tend to Spencer's scrapes and wrap her ribs- just as a precautionary measure- since the brunette was apparently awake.

"That was the first time that I had ever seen you cry. I was at a complete lost as to what to do to get you to stop, so I panicked and ran over to the barn to pick a dandelion for you; when I got back, I sat you down on my favorite swing and proposed to you." Spencer lamented with a small smile, missing the simpler times in life where their friendship was so light and pure, before she had tainted it with her lies and secrecy.

Emily was exceedingly careful with the way she wrapped her battered friend's ribs but, when the swimmer accidentally bumped a soft spot, Spencer bore the pain that shot through her back without a sound, silently telling herself that she deserved it.

"I took the dandelion and made a wish." Emily continued the story, snuggling into Spencer's good side – her right one- with a pale arm draped across her shoulders, as she pulled the fluffy quilt across both of them. "You kept asking what I wished for, but I told you that it would be ruined if I said it out loud. It was so cute when you turned your vows into a long-winded speech on why Pop Surrealism, especially including Ryden's works, shouldn't be classified as an artistic movement."

"I was right in the middle of explaining the historic importance of bestowing the suffix '-ism' on a period of art when you put your hands on both of my cheeks and kissed me. I was frozen stiff until you pulled back and said 'I love you, but you really need to shut up because I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about'." She gave a light chuckle at the memory as she mentally recounted the exact inflection that her friend used. "I didn't want to be out done so I kissed you back and told you that it was okay because I was a spy and not an art thief." Spencer had shifted so that one hand cupped Emily's cheek. Both wore reminiscent smiles as the pale brunette finished the story, "That's when I knew that you were perfect for me."

There eyes were locked rather intimately, Spencer's searching Emily's, before the older girl leaned down where the swimmer met her half way in a gently kiss. There was something familiar about the kiss, but there was also something new that both of them noticed. They couldn't name it but, subconsciously, they knew what it was.

When Spencer pulled back, the only thing that she could think to say was, "I can't even remember the reason that I came over, but I'm happy that I did."

**A/N I beta-ed this chapter myself, so all mistakes are my own. I really am sorry for the long wait, but I ended up having tons of assignments given last week that were due yesterday (college just kicked my ass for the first time). I really enjoyed all the reviews last time and I hope to get a few more. I'm not going to give a number or anything, just know that I appreciate all kinds of feedback (so long as it doesn't constitute hate-mail). Thank you. (:**


	3. Defining Life's Transcendental Instances

**Jocelyn27 (guest): I'm glad you liked it. You'll have to let me know how you enjoyed my other stories. I really need to finish the next chapter of Blurring. :/  
****  
thatkid (guest): I was trying to capture the fact that Spencer isn't quite in her right mind throughout the begining of the story. An old art teacher of mine put together a whole powerpoint on Mark Ryden and all I could think was "_T__his guy looks like a clean-cut Mort Rainey and his name sounds like a good spy name- similar to the syllabic effect of James Bond- but his art is rather horrific and distasteful. It completely cancels out any good points he got for reminding me of Johnny Depp and Pierce Brosnan. I much prefer the truly amazing works of Salvador Dali. That is true Surrealism."_**

**glorymania: Here is your continuation and techinically, as the author, I can end chapters however I want. ;) I hope you enjoy the next cliffhanger. :p haha.**

**DelusionalDaydreams: I really like your pen name. Sorry, it just had to be said.**

**A/N All mistakes are mine and I suppose I should put a trigger warning here just in case. It is not associated with cutting or anything of that nature, but those with a history of any kind of panic disorder, beware.**

The bright sunlight that filtered through the windows caused Emily to stir and instinctively curl into the familiar body that lay half on top of her. The two brunettes were so accustomed to the feel of the other beside them that, after years of friendship and innumerable sleepovers, waking up in a mess of tangled limbs never surprised them.

They always woke up before Hanna and Aria, so their seemingly unusual familiarity with the others body typically went unnoticed. It wasn't unusual to them, but to the outside eyes of their friends, it would have sparked a curious look or two from the way that they resembled an intimate couple in their sleep. It was that same familiarity that allowed Emily to detangle herself from underneath Spencer's slender frame without waking her.

The clock indicated that it was far too late to even consider making it to school and Emily figured that she ought to call her mom and make something to eat. Slipping on a robe to fight the chill in the air, she made sure that Spencer was covered and continued to make her way downstairs.

* * *

Not long after, the chill that bit at Spencer's mostly exposed arms and torso dragged her into an unpleasant awakening. In the process of subconsciously seeking out the warmth, that had surrounded her moments ago, the injured girl had knocked off most of the quilt.

Deciding that Emily was, in fact, nowhere to be found in the bed, Spencer rolled onto her back with a whimper of pain. She forced her eyes open against the bright sunlight as she rose into a sitting position, suppressing the scream of agony that was fighting to be let out in response to her protesting muscles.

Tossing the rest of the quilt off, Spencer moved so that her legs dangled over the edge of the bed with her toes barely brushing across the cold floor. A quick survey of the room told her what she had already expected – Emily wasn't there. The brunette shivered, still in her practice clothes from the day before, causing a ripple of pain to follow. She stood and wrapped the smaller blanket, found at the foot of Emily's bed, around her slight frame. Proceeding to walk downstairs to locate the swimmer, Spencer caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and groaned at her haggard appearance. _I look about as miserable as I feel._

Spencer succeeded in tracking Emily down by peaking around corners and finally spotting her in the kitchen, fully dressed and in the process of making breakfast.

"Morning, Em." Spencer greeted from the doorway, her voice a bit scratchier than usual after sleeping.

Emily jumped slightly before she turned to see her friend standing just outside of the kitchen. "Oh. Good morning, Spence. I was going to bring you breakfast in bed."

"I'm sorry. The cold woke me up. My back is still really sore so shivering was quite painful. It's a lot warmer down here." She remarked a bit off-handedly. "What are you making? It looks like it's going to be good."

"French toast, cut into sticks, and two eggs, sunny-side up - just they way you like them. I just started cooking so you have time to get a shower if you want. I can rub some medicine on your back after you're done and you know you're welcome to anything in my closet – It's really sunny but cold today."

Spencer managed to smile, despite the fact that it even hurt to stand there motionlessly, at how Emily knew her so well and seemed to shine with happiness in the vibrant light that came through the uncurtained windows. "Wait." The brunette did a double take at how oddly bright it was for a fall morning when, typically, the sun was still rising when she left for school. "Shouldn't we be in school right now?"

"Oh, It was almost 9 o'clock when I got up. I gave my mom a call, before she got a call from the school and started to worry, to let her know that I'm staying home sick with you because your parents are out-of-town again. She took care of it, Spence." Emily looked up from the thick slices of Texas toast, which she was cutting into strips, to make eye contact with Spencer who looked like she was about to breakdown and cry. "It's an excused absence, so you can make up all of your work."

Spencer forced herself to relax and let it go because the only thing that her tense posture did was make her back throb in disapproval. "Right… I knew that."

Emily had to chuckle at Spencer's response. "Sure you did Hastings. As if you've ever missed a day of school since we met, in Kindergarten. Go take a shower before I come after you with this spatula."

"A bit too much like Aria this morning, aren't we? At least she was drunk when she chased me with my own spatula because **you** dared her to run around like Wonder Woman and she thought I was some Cheetah character. What's your excuse Fields?" Spencer teased before turning to go do as she was told.

"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" Emily grumbled as Spencer ascended the stairs. "I just might burn your French toast sticks for that, Hastings."

The shorter brunette only laughed quietly and continued toward her destination.

* * *

Getting out of the shower and perusing her clothing options, Spencer chose to adopt Emily's dark jeans paired with a tank top and sheer-cotton shirt look. The white tank top was fitted, but the balsam-colored shirt hung loosely on her shoulders with slightly too-long sleeves, designed for comfort. The grayish green color complemented her extremely light complexion perfectly. She couldn't help but admire the athletic swimmers wardrobe, which was always beyond comfortable to borrow from.

Her least favorite accessory to the ensemble was the large, medicated patch that Emily left for her to apply to her back – they were always so smelly. She struggled to put the ridiculous contraption on the right way and ended up with it being slightly crooked. She had a similar issue with putting on the long-sleeved shirt over her tank top – her hands just wouldn't stop shaking and it inhibited her ability to grip things.

The dull pounding in her head was briefly overshadowed by the alluring scent of French toast and freshly made maple syrup. It drew her back down to the kitchen where she found Emily preparing two plates of food.

Noticing the shorter brunette's arrival, Emily addressed the question that she forgot to ask the first time that Spencer came down the stairs. "Hey Spence, whose car is outside – it looks really expensive – it's not your dad's is it?"

Spencer tucked her noticeably shaking hands in her pockets under Emily's suspicious scrutiny. "No, it's not. It's mine actually. Speaking of which, I left my bag out there last night. I'm going to go ahead and get it right now."

Emily covered her shock at the fact that Spencer would own, let alone drive, something that blatantly screamed money when the brunette was typically opposed to flaunting her family's old-money ranking in society. "But breakfast is ready. Can't it wait until after? I don't want the food to get cold."

Covering the urge to fidget, Spencer backed out of the kitchen with a pleading look, "Twenty seconds; I promise. I really need to get my bag, Em."

Before the taller girl could even attempt to respond, Spencer took off out the front door to her car. Emily simply sighed and proceeded to the family room with both plates in hand. She placed them on the coffee table and turned the TV on to the History Channel.

* * *

Since her sensor key was still inside of her bag, the car was unlocked when Spencer ran her fingertips across the biosensor panel to release the dihedral door. She slid into her seat with even less grace than she did the night before and instantly reached for her bag. Digging through the variety of small pockets inside the tan-colored canvas messenger bag, Spencer retrieved her backup prescription bottle and dumped two of the blue pills out onto her palm.

She closed her eyes after she swallowed the oval-like pills and counted the number of breaths she took, willing the pounding to go away and the world to stop spinning. Her parents convinced her that the attacks were just getting worse because she was developing a tolerance for the drug; just like her doctor told them could happen. They refused to even consider the alternative, for it would only bring more disgrace and solidify Spencer's imperfection in their eyes.

Swallowing back the tears that were burning to fall, Spencer rose from the low seat of the sleek McLaren. Shoulders back, spine straight, and head held high – she was a Hastings.

* * *

Upon reentry of the Fields residence, the slender brunette was welcomed by the sound of her best friend in the kitchen, once again.

"Hey, Em?" She called, walking towards the origin of the noise.

Preempting further questioning, Emily halted Spencer's progress into the kitchen. "We're eating in the family room. Just let me finish pouring you a glass of grapefruit juice and I'll join you."

"Wait!" Spencer hastily interrupted the taller girl before she could open the refrigerator. "No grapefruit juice. Please?" She added as an afterthought, remembering her immaculate manners.

Emily gave her a curious look. "But you love grapefruit juice, more that coffee – I'm almost sure. Personally, I think it's too sharp and tangy, but my mom always has some just for you because she knows it's the only thing you drink with breakfast on the weekends. It's been your preference since the first time you slept over here when we were five. What's changed?"

"It's nothing. I- uh- my doctor said that- erm-" She replied a little too quickly, unable to come up with a better reason that the fact that her doctor told her to stop drinking her coveted juice because it would interfere with the Xanax. "I should drink more milk! He was worried, at my last physical, that-" She wracked her brain for an explanation that would make sense – she use to be so much better at lying. "I might be at risk of dislocating my shoulder or sustaining hairline fractures if I land wrong in soccer. It's not a high-contact sport like football, but you know how competitive I can get."

There had never been a time that, in their thirteen years of shared friendship, Spencer's speech was anything other than eloquent – it was even perfect when she was heavily intoxicated. Emily was completely thrown and could only nod in acknowledgement.

"Alright." Spencer started a bit awkwardly. "I'll- uh, go wait for you then." She saw the shocked confusion written all over her best friend and knew she needed to get out of the kitchen to allow them both some space to collect their thoughts.

Sitting on the floor by the low coffee table, similar to the style of the Japanese, Spencer stared at whatever History channel program Emily had changed the TV to and idly munched at the pile of French toast sticks in front of her. Zoning out, she released an audible sigh of equal parts frustration and exhaustion.

She was tired of always having to lie to the single most important person in her life. It had already been an exceedingly difficult task, but after kissing Emily – after feeling just a hint of what could be – her façade was slowly being stripped away. She had kept her condition hidden from everyone but her family for months and all the lies were slowly eating away at her insides.

_Whoever said that it gets easier to lie the more you do it is a damn liar. Over the past twenty-four hours, it has become more and more difficult to hide what's wrong with me. I already know that Emily is going to start asking questions. _

_I don't have it in me to lie to her anymore, but the truth is going to destroy both our friendship as well as anything more that could have developed. She has been my one salvation from all the pressure that my family puts on me and I can't lose her. I- I think I'm in love with her._

Her concealed vulnerability, which always became so raw after taking her medication, frayed her nerves and she struggled an internal battle over what to tell Emily and how to answer the inevitable barrage of questions that she felt coming her way. The Zanax in her system battled the physical effects of her panicked emotions, but the crushing metaphysical weight of her distress at facing Emily remained prevalent.

The moment that she felt Emily's lips against hers, she knew she wasn't simply lying to those closes to her about her panic disorder; she was also lying to herself. Her kind-hearted and intuitive best friend always knew how to get her to open her eyes to reality when she was too lost in her family's expectations, when she became lost in the realm of the Hastings.

In truth, it was no longer a disorder that she was facing – it was an addiction – and she couldn't possibly face it on her own. She already knew what was to come if she told Emily - the backlash, the withdrawals, the ever-present secrets. _I honestly don't know if I have the strength to do this. There are no clear-cut answers. I feel so helpless._

**I can't really say that I like how this chapter turned out. It seems more fillery and like a jumbled mess of thoughts, but feel free to review and express your take on the matter. I know authors are generally a lot harsher on themselves than the readers. I appreciate both positive and negative feedback, so long as it's contructive.**


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